


This is his blood (this is his love)

by SerotoninUp



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: After the Axe Scene, Bloodplay, Episode: s04e02 Somebody's Been Reading Dante's Inferno, F/M, Ficlet, Kissing, Missing Scene, One Shot, Sort of? Tagging it just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerotoninUp/pseuds/SerotoninUp
Summary: After Chloe drops the axe, touches the thin line of blood scored into Lucifer's chest and gasps her apology, there is silence.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 29
Kudos: 198





	This is his blood (this is his love)

After Chloe drops the axe, touches the thin line of blood scored into Lucifer's chest and gasps her apology, there is silence.

Lucifer looks down at her with eyes older than the sun. They don't burn now, but she has seen the inferno, the heart of the star blazing in his ancient gaze, and looking into his eyes is like looking backward to the very beginning of time, forward through eternity.

It's too much, too overwhelming, and she looks away, directing her attention to the wound she inflicted upon him moments ago, when that strange, reckless desire to prove the truth of his words overtook her heart and mind.

His blood is slick and warm against her fingertips. He has always bled in her presence. She knows, now, that he bleeds _because_ of her presence.

_I would do it again. And again. Don't you know that, Detective?_

She did know, in some small, secret place in her heart where her constant doubt and fear had failed to penetrate. She thinks of his blood pooling around him like spilled wine after Malcolm shot him. She thinks of the crimson stain spreading through the napkin she pressed against his stab wound at Lux. She thinks of blood-spattered feathers scattered across a bullet-pocked floor.

A question - _Why?_ \- almost leaves her tongue, but she swallows it down before she even opens her mouth to ask. Because she knows this, too.

He's never said the words. He doesn't have to.

She looks up at him again, and the gentle concern in his eyes nearly undoes her. She's so close to unraveling, so close to losing her carefully-maintained facade of control.

But instead of stepping back, instead of turning away and once again donning the mantle of collected, logical Detective Decker, she finds herself reaching for him.

With his blood still warm on her fingertips, she touches his mouth, tracing a feather-light line over the tempting fullness of his lower lip, the perfect dip of his Cupid's bow.

Lucifer makes a sound, something soft and yearning in the back of his throat. She slides her hand down to press against the bare skin over his heart, her thumb brushing against the cut on his chest, leaving scarlet fingerprints on his skin. She rises up on her toes, melding herself fully against the long, lean contours of his body. She closes her eyes and presses her lips to his.

He tastes of salt and copper and something else, something that reminds her of the scorching heat of desert sand, of beach bonfires on a summer night. His mouth burns hot against hers, and an answering heat coils in her belly, an inferno of her own that kindles only for him.

He's an eternal being of fire and light and darkness, and the last place in the universe he should want to be is here with her, the only mortal in all of creation who threatens that eternity. But his arms slide around her, hands mapping out the curve of her spine, and she doesn't have to ask why because she knows, she knows, _she knows._

He's never said the words, but he doesn't have to. He chooses her again and again, tempting the strike of the metaphorical ax every moment of every day he's with her, and the blood he willingly spills to protect her speaks more clearly than words ever could.

She kisses the taste of love from his lips until the world around her recedes into nothingness, until she is dizzy and breathless, and only then does she open her eyes.

Afterimages dance in her vision as she takes a step away from him. He lets her go, dropping his hands to his sides, his kiss-swollen lips parting to breathe her name.

"Chloe," he murmurs, and his gaze falls to her hand, still covering his heart.

Her stomach lurches with sudden nausea as her fingertips graze the still-bleeding cut, and she pulls her hand away quickly. What is she doing, standing here kissing him as if she can just accept the fact that she's his weakness - the literal chink in his armor? If the cameraman had thrown that axe just a few inches to the side, Lucifer could have _died_.

She would have lost him. Forever.

She swallows hard around the sudden lump in her throat. "We should - we should get that cleaned up and bandaged," she suggests, in a pathetic attempt to draw his attention away from her temporary lapse in sanity.

Lucifer looks up at her again, brow furrowed, mouth already open to protest. She turns away, hiding from his imploring eyes. "Let's go," she says.

He follows her, unusually silent, as she walks out into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the lyrics to "Bedroom Hymns" by Florence + The Machine.  
> Thanks for reading! <3


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